We might as well go with the ravens ... Kurjaa oli elämä, mutta sitten kuolin. Ja sitten kuolin... Written by Wolfram Winterfuhr, (In longing for roasted and canned canine meat for cats) finished in October 1st, 1008. Deuteragonist -> protagonist/antagonist: Demise - antinomy! Making sense? I remember in the burning hay. I've always said I'll do it mostly because of species dysphoria. In truth, I could handle it somehow. I would never be happy, but I could somehow manage... It's love. I can't handle love. It causes too much pain almost all the time. Call me weak or whatever, but I am rather dead, because when I'm alive, love takes over everything I feel, everything I am, everything me and that happens to be too painful, for me. I don't crave to be loved, really not. Certain kind of acceptance would be everything I could even ask, nothing more. Certain kind... of death. Of course, I can't truly ask it from anyone (even if I'll eat these words only a few days after writing this), so in a way, I too chose solitude. For I'm not afraid of solitude. If I was, I'd have some-random-one right now, right here. It's painful to be alone, but it's better than being with someone who I wouldn't... accept in a certain way or she wouldn't do the same to me. (And oh, my little ghost - your time is up... Not afraid of what today ends Nor any kind of an attack I'm afraid I have no defence The day I get back No matter how much I try to think Feeling, that's my crime Damn, I see wolves only when I drink Which is... yeah, heh, All the damn time) So I kept scrawling weird words in unlikely formations, let them flit and flow and curse and pierce through all that I had ever dreamt of and when they saw, they all thought I was a poet. I wonder how soon will they discover that I was actually a retard. Let be megin. Something for Painters I might paint letters for manymany seasons to come But what if I'll never be thirty-one You *could* just ask me But then I would run (Grant only a hug but like with no one else Make a tiny little whisper That is all - so much it tells Awkwardly between a me and a little sister) I *could* just answer you And then you would run Then you would run... (How to say "love" without "hurt"? You have a hunch? Come on, tell me If I don't consider myself ill, how to get cured Though I should... Love's all malady) I'm not as good as I was But I've felt much worse Something for grim artists with paint as cruel I've had for long, but never with this fright I really couldn't keep my heart from you But you must know: I tried... taidat olla seitsemäs taidat olla viimeinen I might paint too manymany words and spoil the fun But what if I just want to silently grab you and run Would we then run... [ vai väännänkö kohta piikkilangasta ... ] Beautiful Wolves. - 100% so i got gin and wodka (and a bottle of dew) and a dozen new blades sharp enough to cut through ... sharper than sherry but less than a spike who did say something like "I love you but it's not that I want you nothing to do with me I love what you are" so i have gin and that'll keep my story tall unlike i would write for not that i wouldn't want... not that at all you see well how you're being mauled i have, imagin, a flask of glee i don't know, but if i did that's what i too would see though am evil with irregular dice i'm not a destroyer maybe that's why i'm so good in it dusks far from weather-fairs raining bad paint, so better flee i would (ye i'm afraid i would) make you draw nightmares (yours) how more fair would a gentle shelter be i feel you're running away so far that it's just a matter of rhyme until you startle me from behind it wasn't the worst a while ago then came the hurting thirst but i dislike most safe things, so seventh and in a way the veryvery first do i carelessly drink because of getting fun or letting go or setting on the grief hmm i mean .. do you seriously think if you didn't let me i would still leave That was August. And it's already September. "Enhän minä... sade se vain." Why Should We Have Compassion "We're all dust But you are like xxxxxe" Like that sweet dark night she came in unease Despite all the little stayawayfrommes When I finally got that "You are like ..." I realized... it was already dawn So became my carmoisine doublehoney with glue And illicit absinthe with mountain dew Not corpse, I'm all all over jokerpaint And if I was, I don't remember being ashamed Ats all To trade places, should it come to me Stony forest karst topography I'd say yes, though she came to my place Does it mean it's, when all painted face, Acts all Tell me not, or I'll tell you this Foretelling present and future truths will not go amiss... Damn. I love you, you crazy semiravenhybridwolfendemigryphon Or is it still too early? "Dustinarium shelves I'd remember the way We are witch and part wolf Tied up in the burning hay" How about now? Scratched my arm pretty bad, but whatever happened to certain innards? (you damn well know that) How about NOW? "None better... I painted her all meself" Like the German howling midnight wind Like the inn with a missing drink All lost in the sky, so where's mine more Where I come from, we're all starcrap there But you are like... ...you should know, you'll have to hurt me against my will Which is my will exactly Cats all Die (How about now?) Rainwater Chemistry has it not been fiction so damn always. despite hopes, always ended like now i sat alone in my now too stained treehouse with all rest hope fooled "i'm not a stalker", i thought at the same time kept watching her doings as well as i could the tagged songs listened, hope for new artwork, or poetry, and dreams, the several journals... "my love just happens to be a little more intense than normally". i had waited for a long time, knowing nothing would ever happen. but i had waited, waited painted and waited even some more. you know for how long that had been and as we know, something eventually did happen last summer how could i have asked for anything more. the night came to me and i welcomed the familiar, familiar night just without any comfort i decided to empty the bottle of the best absinthe i had ever owned. the best... i though, "the last and... fuck you, you were also the best. you were the best to me". i had never desired like this in the past, but i had loved once. curse it as you will, but - this much i knew of myself - it was the reason why i could let you go. had i loved you an inch less, i would have... kept on stalking maybe. now i knew i wasn't for you and appreciated it, your will, though it hurt like only that one time before. and on whim, like nitrosangria, i took all the pills i had kept prepared for many months no blackmails like in your dreams, nothing like that love like this doesn't work like dreams she hadn't been online for some hours now couldn't blame her couldn't page her, even now no anything not the best for you and not even close the night and the autumnal darkness with it solitude, emptiness, loneliness and some harsh september rain i listened to the instrumental main title song of sayonara zetsubou sensei (or so it was tagged) over, over again, again and thought to myself that no more night like this... no more this longing. too much pain. too much only pain. then the glass was empty, like i felt, yet complete i heard fall apart starting to play over the piano score my cell phone ... "....Axxxx?" i answered with a hoarse whisper another one replied "avaatko ulko-oven" "..." took me a few seconds "..." then i ran "..." and then i ran while holding the phone i jumped downstairs dropped it somewhere saw the dark dark figure behind the glass opened the door and it was raining and she was there seemed calm, but i sensed she was shivering we exchanged only stares (the rain suited her so well, because she was so far from being plain sugar) she looked dark and so sad i looked probably also surprised it wasn't me who hugged her, nor her who held me it came naturally there, in the rain without a word and i was shivering, too i smiled secretly in her hair and laughed (cried) silently and her hair was the most comforting thing ever it smelled of broken wet feathers and then i fell then i fell Death by Sweet Drizzle in Machida "You're not dead." "I skimped on the Dom Perignon... so there wasn't enough to kill me." So I did wake up, eventually, with charcoal taste. How stupid, this waste has become a picaresque novel that doesn't want to finish yet. I almost said that "Good that we don't have more shared memories, because even like this it feels so bad to die without you". Does almost count? Nevertheless, I'm late... And after all, this was just fiction, WASN'T IT. And I'm alone. Tuhoa vai vain taidetta vigilance district centres congestion went downhill some the pain that once was hers some more and that cats kill sinai leper ravensmith with sweetest bakery vagrant but a carton with 'most everlasting me h . blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood bad bad beloved loved blood . ...mitä sitten sinulle tarjoankaan, vai? Entä jos tarjoaisin näin aluksi vaikka 30 mg mirtatsapiiniä päivässä, jättäisitkö silloinkaan ottamatta vastaan? Onibocho Pressing (Varisnaisen hillitön charmi) (If I cried out all the pain that had grown "Who am I, none am I - one am I for still alone" She probably cut me in two Bleeding to her And to her only) "I'm in love with a girl, I'm in love with a wolf I'm in love with a raven and I'm all drunk on Death." Might as well run into the woods Find noetic tipsy mushroom haze Natural and free of us as urban brutes Some perfect place... to desist in unrefined craze Might at least try to jump heaven-high In case flying fails, pleasant to fall I've already failed in June and in July And even the autumn's today Just making me crawl "I'm sorry." No, you're not. But thanks for sayin' it. (When I die, I won't be desperate I am going to enjoy it) So I did reach 28, even 29 and 30 And I did have fun and severe pain I got mine paws all bloody and heart dirty i got gentle and raw moments and also much disdain I got not turned away and then got that precisely I got 15 mg, 30 and 100 Didn't help, not surprisingly I feel I found, she felt no, so lost my kindred water attracts, rain attracts but everything is noted before: tears... like said, tiny cataracts so no reason to go on and write anybore Finale: It definitely sucks to learn you have wings only after you've flown high and suddenly crashed to the ground and noticed you've broken them for good. We Might As Well Go With the Ravens Though I'm not entirely inexperienced in certain things or others, I've always merely dreamt of being able to fly. I see nearly everyone around me just leap sky-high and there they go as the September wind, pardon me for being poetic in a mundane way, but that's what seeing others fly grants: dreams, thus inspiration, no matter how well refined or original. And I've written. I've written like a retard, so to say, about this thing, being able to actually fly. I've always described my attempts as falling, falling and getting hurt, or rather falling and getting rid of this inept life that was never truly mine. And now, I was taught how to fly. I didn't even notice it while I glided in mid-air, not even when I was provided the pleasure greater than anything before. Foolishly, I noticed only afterwards, after it was over, when I was already on the ground, broken-winged, broken-hearted, and her, my mentor (and in deep secrecy, my beloved - in a very unrequited way), had flown past the horizon. Now, as it appears, I'm just happy my beak's not too broken to prevent me from having moremoarmohrne of this delicious absinthe... "He must be a complete madman", I can hear them say. They're right. I must be. But I must be a madman who was once able to fly higher than some of them ever were (if only for a tinylittlepitiful while).